In the nape of gallows dreams hung is the vision of you dancing naked in front of me  Tango tremble, my rough hands trace dance floors across skin discotheque. Lip-sync your poetry into the night’s vase my fist will bloom your portrait to lie next...

In the beginning,Winter stood over me,a god with iron breath,cold as fuck,asking whether I would kneelor survive. January split my ribs openand called it birth.Blood remembered motion.The year accepted me. February came robed in red,a god who does not bargain.It taught...